


Surfacing

by thaliachaunacy (thalialunacy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memory Loss, Reverse Chronology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-18
Updated: 2007-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thaliachaunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Hermione has Alzheimer's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surfacing

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd with tears by ~~my sexy Brit crack dealer~~ [Samuti](http://samuti.livejournal.com). One image stolen from _The Book of Daniel_ ; one line from Dan Radcliffe's appearance on Jonathan Ross. Written for a reverse-chronology challenge.
> 
>  _for my grandmother_

A man visits me at about seven every day, directly after supper. A very nice older gentleman, with mostly-grey hair he says was once red.

He says I liked it, his red hair. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down after he says this, and I know he’s swallowing back tears. It’s wretched to watch.

“I’m sure it was very handsome,” I try to reassure him.

I know it was, somehow. I’m sure I did like it.

Sometimes, he brings things. Flowers, sweets, joke toys. And books. Loads of books. Books that look used, although I don’t say this aloud. I enjoy the company, and I always need reading material on my bedside table. I run my fingers over the spines when lost in thought, and it comforts me.

***

The vase shatters against the wall after narrowly missing the scarred, wrinkled man’s salt-and-pepper head. The raucous noise helps, but doesn’t decimate the seething anger rushing through me.

“Mother _fucker!_ How _dare_ you speak to me like that, you inconsiderate, _filthy_ little _wanker!_ You don’t even know who the _fuck_ I am!”

The words spew out of my mouth like sewage, clearly horrifying the man in front of me. But he stands his ground, infuriating me even more.

“ _He_ sent you, didn’t he? The Dark Lord? You’re one of _his_ , a pathetic con artist come to tell me everything’s safe, that we’ve won, then lure me into some small room and—“ I flick my empty hand as if casting a spell, not caring if the entire home sees. “—zip zip, done!”

He’s shaking his head, holding his hand up. “It’s _me_ , Hermione. It’s Harry!”

“You _can’t be!_ Harry Potter is _dead!_ Now get the _fuck_ out of here and never come back!”

***

“Oh, Ron, I’m so glad you’re back!” I smile up at him as he stands in the entrance to my small study, filling the doorframe with his gangly presence.

The tension drains from his face, replaced by huge, shining smile. He bounds over to the chair in which I’m sat, leaning down for a kiss. I do him one better and stand to embrace him... although, admittedly, it takes longer now. _You’re an old woman, Hermione,_ a little voice says.

I tell it to hush, and stretch my creaky bones to kiss him soundly.

He smiles when I pull back, and we move to another room to sit at the small kitchen table. His knee pops, and we laugh. His skin is warm underneath my hand.

“Where have you been?” I ask him. “I was worried something had happened to you on the way to the shops!”

His smile falters. “Oh. Er—well—yes, I suppose it did take a while, and I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

He studies my face, and I swear I see sadness touch his eyes. “You look beautiful, Hermione.”

I can’t help but put my hand to his cheek. “Thank you, Ronald. I love you too.”

He blinks rapidly, then clears his throat, reaching into his back pocket and bringing forth an envelope. “I brought some—brought back some photos I thought you might like.” He offers them too me, and I look through them eagerly.

They’re full of wonderful, smiling faces, and make me ache with happiness. A beautiful older woman with a bouncing dark-haired baby catches my eye. “Why,” I exclaim, “that looks just like Ginny!”

His Adam’s apple jerks a few times. “It _is_ Ginny, Hermione.” He tries to smile. “She and Harry just had a new grandbaby. Her name is—“ He swallows again. “Her name is Jane. After her great aunt.”

I stare at him. “Why—why hasn’t anyone told me?”

He doesn’t answer. I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes and my hand twitches into a fist.

“I’ve forgotten, haven’t I?”

He nods. “But it’s alright, Hermi—“

“It is _not_ , alright, and you know it! Can you imagine how this feels? I don’t _know_ anything! It’s just—just _gone!_ You can’t even—you have no idea—“

But I can’t speak anymore. The tears choke the words until they die in my throat.

***

“So it’s—it’s treatable?” Ron’s hand clutches mine so hard the tears I didn’t know were there squeeze out of my eyes.

The Muggle doctor looks grim. “Treatable, yes, Mr. Weasley, but not curable. There are no set timelines, so you could have decades of happy years in front of you. And there are many facilities that can provide care... when the time comes.”

He says no more after that. He doesn’t have to.

Ron’s shoulders shake as he tries not to let me see him cry.

***

“Oh, thank _Merlin!_ ”

I look up from my book as Ron strides up to the park bench where I sit and grabs me by the shoulders. “Where on earth have you been?” Then he kisses me, not giving me a chance to answer.

“I asked you a question!” he starts in again as soon as he lets go of my lips. “Fuck, Hermione, we’ve been so worried about you!”

His vehemence makes me blink. “I’m waiting for our son to get out of primary school for the day, Ronald.” I know I sound testy but I don’t understand why he’s being so harsh. “Where else should I be?”

And then I see our son standing beside him, nearly an adult, gangly and sad. Lights flash in my head and shame flushes my cheeks.

I’ve got lost, apparently. After swearing it wouldn’t happen again.

His hands shake. “Hermione...” he whispers, pain raw in his voice. “What time do you think it is?”

“Five-thirty,” I answer quietly, knowing it’s wrong, knowing the sun is too low, but I just left work ten, possibly fifteen minutes ago, I swear...

Ron is silent for a moment, his throat working. Our son stands behind him, awkward and distant in his almost-grown stature.

“Let’s go home,” my husband declares suddenly, with forced cheeriness. “Supper’s waiting and the old cat needs his medicine. You know he won’t let either of us come near him with it.” He’s trying to prod a smile from me, the wonderful sod, and I can’t help but acquiesce. He pulls me up, and with my arm around both my boys, we Apparate home.

***

Something tugs on my hair, and I open one eye blearily. The pillow obscures my view, but I can see Ron’s drooling, sleeping mouth, and a small child’s chubby fist waving near my frazzled tresses.

“Mummy-Mummy- _Mummy!_ ”

“Yes-yes- _yes?_ ” I say back, ending on a yawn.

“Mummy, it’s snowing!”

I blink. “Is it really?” I pick up my wand from the bedside table and wave it at the window curtains. The sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered ground nearly blinds us, and Ron groans as the baby dives under the covers with a shriek.

“Oh hush, both of you, and come take a look at this.” I roll out of bed, taking the duvet with me, and pad across the floor to stand in front of the windowpane.

It’s absolutely gorgeous outside, fresh and flaky and oh so peaceful. I feel baby breath on my cheek and laugh as Ron dumps him into my arms, then envelopes all three of us in the duvet.

Bliss melts through my soul, unadorned joy at this view and this family and this life I have. I savor the moment, memorize every angle of Ron’s unshaven skin, every dimple on our child’s round face, the smell of the morning, and the feel of their arms around me.

This, I swear, I will never forget.

***

 _You don’t look back on time, like a line; you look into it, like water. Sometimes this comes up, sometimes that. Sometimes nothing._


End file.
